Transcendence and the nature of power it bestowed to those who achieved it was a mystery to most.
People simply wrote it off as Transcendents obtaining even greater might in the same way mortals did when they became Ascendants. Transcendents were simply "better", and that was why their powers were so tremendous. That wasn't such a strange misconception, considering Sentorale Continent only had six Transcendents, and none of them could be met easily. There wasn't a book detailing what they could do and how they could do it, either.
Whenever someone asked Rolf the Sword Star what differentiated someone of his rank from Ascendants, he would offer the same explanation every time.
A Transcendent's physical capabilities were actually similar to an Ascendant's. The only difference was that "reality" gave them special treatment when it came to the intensity of their effect on reality and reality's effect on them.
If Rolf snapped his fingers normally, the shockwaves could create fissures on the ground should he wish it. An exhale could sweep away an entire city. Should he spit on the ground, the glob of saliva would penetrate the earth deeply and tunnel to depths unknown.
Of course, this is on the premise of "if he wanted to". Otherwise, the Aizen Kingdom would have been accidentally erased a long time ago. And in a similar manner, everything aside from other Transcendents moved slowly in his eyes, as if they were within an invisible bog of sludge. Even with their best efforts, he likely wouldn't even feel any of their attacks.
Transcendents obviously gained all sorts of abilities depending on how they rose to power too, such as how he could cut through space or how Leonel could spread his madness through his presence alone. But this explanation was enough to give the curious children who asked him a good enough idea.
Rolf wasn't strong because his body could somehow release the force to shatter mountains. The world simply surrendered to his will easier than most.
Even time succumbed to a Transcendent's authority.
'So. Antonnel made the first move, hm? I wonder how long he's known.'
The Sword Star leisurely shot across the sky, letting his perception blanket the world below. It was raining in Aizen but that didn't bother him. The raindrops fell, but as he passed they made way for him. Thunder rumbled just as lightning fell from the sky. But to his eyes, even this was as slow as a baby's crawl. In the same way that the children of Aizen below him lived their peaceful lives as if deliberately moving with the speed of a particularly slothful snail.
Aizen's citizens weren't collectively enacting some sort of nationwide prank, however. This was simply how Transcendents saw the world when they focused.
And Rolf was extremely focused at the moment, ready to enter combat any time.
Eventually, he left Aizen behind and entered Arkhan's skies. For him, it was a flight that had lasted an hour. But for the mortals below, it had likely been a mere few seconds of their short lives. Rolf paused in the air as he concentrated, spreading his perception as far as he could. He was worried he would find nothing and have to spend even more time searching, but he was fortunate. It was slight, however, he caught some fluctuations westward—where he assumed combat had erupted already.
Wasting no time, he resumed flight, heading straight for the former Aizenian Embassy. Minutes passed for him that wasn't even a second for most of the world—a time he could have utterly omitted by teleporting. Considering he was about to fight fellow Transcendents, however, it would be the height of foolishness to use up his power just to save a couple of Transcendent minutes.
When he arrived, the embassy was no more. Rolf had never taken a break from his eternal vigil to take a look at the place, so he had never seen the embassy or what it looked like. But he did know where Arkhana was.
Or rather, where it used to be. There was no sprawling city to be found where his gaze fell.
Arkhana, the center of the republic's government, was a mere wasteland now. Anyone laying eyes on it would not have even thought that an awe-inspiring metropolis had once been there. The earth was upturned and some swathes of it even had burn marks, the smoky scent still filling the air. Famous for its perpetual chilliness, the cold had been banished and replaced with a sweltering heat that licked his skin—a heat that could make even him sweat, it seemed.
It was an utter tragedy.
'The children...'
Rolf’s old heart ached when he thought of the knights who stayed behind. But a cursory sweep of his perception revealed good news—there were residual spatial ripples left behind by spatial travel. It wasn’t sophisticated or stable enough to have been caused by a fellow Transcendent, so Rolf reckoned that Valter made the ripples.
He hoped it was Valter, who likely took the other knights with him in the retreat. It could have also been that brat, Mordred.
As for the ordinary citizens that had once inhabited Arkhana, they had likely all perished. A sad thing it was. And Rolf would never have wanted it to happen even if these people weren't his own. But the relief over the knight’s possible survival eclipsed his pity for the countless citizens of a foreign nation, loathe as he was to admit.
Suddenly, the winds of a tremendous force caressed his face. Rolf’s penetrating gaze followed it to the source, his eyes narrowing in concentration. He focused his perception on reaching as far in that direction as possible.
And it bore fruit for he felt five powerful presences locked in combat.
‘Five?’
There was only supposed to be himself, the War God, the Gladiator King, and the Sage King. Possibly the Sage King’s spirit beast as well—though according to Leonel, they didn’t have to worry about that because the Sage King was alone. He still doubted if that statement was true at all, however.
If the information was true, however, that meant Rolf should have, at most, felt three entities. There were two Transcendents unaccounted for.
'Unexpected variables. Wonderful. As if this wasn't dangerous enough already.'
Laying an ambush to take one out without a fuss was no longer possible though. By perceiving them, Rolf had all but announced his own presence. They may not know who he was specifically or his location, but it would hardly matter at this point, so he threw caution to the wind and bent space, immediately reaching the battlefield. Saving his power was important, but keeping his temporary allies alive was even more so.
Immediately, he recognized Leonel. The War God was present with his real body, and it was a true sight to behold. From his epithet, one would assume the War God was some muscle-headed brute with a hulking body. And they would only be half-correct because Leonel was anything but muscle-headed.
He was, however, a hulking giant of a man.
Practically three meters tall with limbs as thick as tree trunks, Leonel’s mane-like head of blonde hair billowed behind him as he laughed maniacally, surrounded by ghastly phantoms ripped away from a world that wasn’t this one. The phantoms wailed, announcing their agony to the world even as they orbited the War God protectively.
Not to be missed was the giant silver owl in the sky, fighting a comparatively minuscule figure that Rolf recognized as the Gladiator King.
That pretty much accounted for the three Transcendents he had expected, so his sharp gaze then fell upon the other two.
One was painfully noticeable, seeing as it was a serpentine dragon that Rolf recognized as a “Ryuu”. Its length likely spanned the diameter of a small city and the beautiful crimson scales covering it distorted the air with the heat their massive form radiated. It had a muscular pair of clawed arms that looked positively tiny when compared to its length and overall size, but was still big enough to grasp Rolf even if he was four times as tall and thick. Peeking out of its scaled lips were glistening white teeth, each as long as the tallest lighthouse he knew of.
And on its head was the other Transcendent.
“A newcomer?” the small figure atop the Ryuu’s head muttered. “Ah, you must be the Sword Star I’ve heard so much about!”
Rolf frowned, immediately recognizing what the figure was.
‘An elf…?’
The Elven Transcendent looked down at Rolf, a confident and imposing presence wafting off of him—which was even more amazing because the elves looked like children with pointy ears and completely white eyes.
This one was no different, except for the wrinkles on its cherubic face. Despite the marks of aging, however, elves never actually looked old due to the eternal youth their racial qualities granted them. It was jarring, seeing a child’s face have crow’s feet marring the corners of their eyes.
‘An elf with a red dragon for a spirit beast…’
Rolf dug through his memories, eventually coming up with a name. “Born of Ash and Blood.”
The elf’s brows shot up, sweeping back its silver hair. “That would be an accurate translation in your language, yes. That said, if you’ll address me at all, I’d prefer you call me Yabo. Do you know of me, human?”
“An elf called Igleya spoke of you.”
“Igleya…” Yabo echoed thoughtfully, even as the battle raged on all around him. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in many springs. Can you grace me with the tale of her fate?”
“She perished,” Rolf spoke honestly. “It was a great many years ago that I met her on my travels. A time before I settled down and chose a hill to die on.”
“Ah. A true shame.” That seemed about as much as Yabo cared for the acquaintance. He then flicked his wrist nonchalantly at Rolf. “In any case, it seems you have a problem with Antonnel over there. But he owes me a debt. A debt I cannot collect if he is dead.”
It was here that Leonel chose to interject. “I’m glad for the break in fighting, but Rolf, I’d like it if you handle that midget. I’m a bad match. That mercenary we hired has refused to switch, saying he was only hired to fight the Sage King and nobody else.”
Rolf’s face hardened as he gripped the sword tightly, keeping his eyes on the elf. “Just what and how much does he owe you, enough for you to wander out of your forests to make trouble? Perhaps we can agree on something.”
Yabo shook his head. “The debt is a service to be rendered. So my apologies, but it is not possible for anyone else to pay in his place. The matter is related to the existences you call spirit beasts after all.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He expected that, but Rolf couldn’t help but sigh in his heart. If the elf still wasn’t revealing the information, then it must truly be something only the Sage King could do.
With great regret, Rolf nodded in acceptance. “Then we fight.”
“Indeed.” The elf nodded with a small smile, revealing a peek at the sharp teeth that all elves had. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”
In a strange gesture that somehow conveyed deep respect for a worthy opponent, Yabo cupped his fist and bowed, jumping off the dragon’s head and levitating in the air right beside it, flowing white robes waving elegantly in the wind.
‘Damn the stars…’
What had initially been a three-versus-one was now three-versus-three. The risks had just risen tremendously and his spine chilled at the thought of what would have happened if he had gone alone. Furthermore, seeing as the Gladiator King was a mercenary paid for with benefits, if the odds tipped to the other side’s favor a little too much, he might flee—or worse, turn on Rolf and Leonel.
At which point, Leonel would turn on him. Rolf was quite sure of that. The bastard did not lack a pair of testicles when it mattered most, but they weren't exactly best of friends.
‘So that’s the Sage King…’
Rolf chanced a quick glance at the giant silver-feathered owl in the sky, creating cyclones with every flourish of its wings and gashes in the earth whenever its talons made a grab for its opponent. It looked anything but human, as he’d initially expected the Sage King to be.
Was that Antonnel? Or was it the Sage King? Perhaps, were they the same person?
Questions birthed more questions but Rolf didn’t think he would be getting an answer. And he didn't need to. What he had to do wouldn't change even if he knew.
“Surprised, old friend?” Leonel called out to him with a smirk. “Antonnel wasn’t a human. He was some filthy non-human thing, though different from that ugly little midget and his overgrown worm.”
“Leonel,” Rolf called out to one of his oldest and most hated acquaintances. “I will deal with our guests from beyond the western seas.”
The War God whistled in mock admiration. “Both of them?”
“Both of them.”
“You’re quite confident, hm? But fine, I’m a really bad match for this particular set of inhuman scum. You deal with them.”
The elf silently listened to the conversation, speaking to the dragon in a language nobody but them understood. Then he smiled. “My friend here thinks you’re overestimating yourself, human. She thinks you’re going to make for a fine piece of charcoal.”
“More fearsome beings than you have tried.” Rolf shook his head and couldn't help but chuckle as he spread his hands outward. “Yet here I stand.”
Leonel eyed the exchange with a serious expression before shrugging. “Rolf.”
The Sword Star frowned. “You have squandered the opportunity to make your exit, Leonel.”
Ignoring his words, the War God simply scoffed. “I just wanted to say that if either of us dies here, the treaty still stands. On my honor, I will make sure of it.”
“Your honor? You have none.”
“I’m serious this time, Rolf. C’mon.”
Leonel sighed and for a moment, Rolf truly thought the snake-like bastard was actually being sincere. But the old knight had been stung a little too much by this piece of trash so he wouldn't believe it until both of them met in whatever afterlife awaited killers like them.
"I've seen the light, Rolf," Argonia's founding emperor said. “We can’t let more of these demihuman garbage into our lands. Let the children squabble over material riches. The ageless must seek to reach higher realms to ward off foreign incursions like the one that’s happening right now.”
Rolf saw some sense in that. Truly, the other continents were catching up to them in sheer number of Transcendents and it was getting quite alarming. And they were starting to stir, eyeing the continent nearest to them—which just so happened to be the one smack dab in the middle of them all.
Sentorale.
“You have a point, Leonel.” Rolf shook his head. “But I cannot trust you.”
The War God froze for a moment, but nodded reluctantly. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“But… Since I cannot trust you, I suppose I’ll refuse to die today.”
The Sword Star’s words seemed to shock Leonel for a second before the madman started laughing. “Hah! Great! Then I shall also refuse death today!”
“I’d rather you not.”
Their gazes met, and in them were the memories of all the times they clashed. At this point, nobody else in the world knew more about them than the other. Strangely, that had formed a twisted form of trust between them.
Leonel trusted Rolf to take every chance to kill him. While Rolf trusted Leonel to play every dirty trick possible.
Rolf wasted no time in flying toward the elf, intent on killing him first. After all, even if there were two Transcendents, he only really had to kill one to end the fight. Leonel also moved to join the fight against the Sage King, which was at a stalemate.
As the world around them slowed, six Transcendents began one of the most destructive battles in human history.
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Rolf reached his target in the blink of an eye, even for a Transcendent. He then wasted no time in swinging down the Night Splitter on the elf’s head.
Yabo preemptively dodged, zipping to the left before dashing right back in and aiming a small fist at Rolf’s chin, which was then redirected upward by a pommel strike. The elf then followed it up with a kick to the torso, but again, Rolf knocked it away with a pommel strike, quickly transitioning into a slash that would separate the elf’s head from everything else.
Unfortunately, the dragon made its move, biting down on where Rolf was and forcing the Sword Star to retreat with a calm gaze.
‘So it’s true he mainly fights with his body.’
It made sense, seeing as few weapons could handle a Transcendent, much less be affected by the special treatment granted to them by the world. Among the six Transcendents present, only Rolf had a weapon. The Gladiator King was also fighting with his fists.
But where the Gladiator King focused on brute force and technique, the elf was a lot more agile. And through the short exchange, Rolf noted how sharp the attacks were, precisely targeting openings.
Openings that Rolf intentionally revealed.
Yabo muttered something in a language Rolf couldn’t understand, though, from the look on the elf’s face, it could be inferred that he had cursed. There were cuts on the pristine white robes he was wearing, and he probably didn’t even know why.
‘He’s strong… But I’m a bad match for him.’
Opponents that relied on evasion were Rolf’s favorite opponents, right next to big lumbering ones that would serve as an easy-to-hit target for an unending barrage of attacks.
Lucky for him, the two opponents he faced fell into those descriptions.
“I will not chase after you if you retreat,” Rolf offered. Truly, he would rather not use up his power fighting anyone other than the Sage King.
But the elf merely shook his head. He slapped his palms together and said something in what Rolf could only assume was elven tongue. Immediately after, a spine-tingling screech spread outward with the elf as its origin.
The earth beneath their battlefield deteriorated even more, as grass, plants, and trees withered into nothingness.
Even parts of Rolf’s skin started to harden and flake off, as if they were made of rotten wood. It took a lot of effort just to purge the effect.
‘What was the point of that…?’
That didn’t strike him as something meant to deal with other Transcendents given how relatively easy it was to undo. But when he focused back on the elf, Rolf realized the scream had been a distraction.
The giant dragon had vanished and so too had the elf. In their place was what Rolf could only assume was their combined form.
It was humanoid for the most part and about three meters tall. Red scales covered its entire body as a tail lazily swayed behind it. The gorgeous white robes that Yabo had been wearing were ripped to shreds from the sudden transformation, but that hardly mattered in the face of the power roiling off of the figure.
‘How annoying. They merged.’
Rolf would have loved it if they had remained un-fused, but it seemed time hadn’t dulled Yabo’s instincts. The elf had realized the danger and chosen the optimal choice against the age-old tactic of “Divide and Conquer”.
Now, Yabo had additional durability while not being a particularly large target.
In the end, however, Rolf viewed it as a minor annoyance.
Durability was meaningless to him because he would cut through anything. And a smaller target could be made up for with unrivaled precision instead.
The elf had made a mistake by fusing, but the demi-human's first mistake was coming here at all.
And in combat, one must not stop an opponent when they are making a mistake.
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Jerme had somehow stumbled into becoming the Gladiator King.
And he was a lofty figure now too, having lived more than a thousand years in luxury despite still being “technically” a slave. He could break free any time he wished, so he didn’t feel very restricted. And by simply existing, the Star of Fortune gave him everything a man could ask for.
Good food, good women, and words of affirmation. Just the way he liked it.
It was everything he’d wished for, during those days when he was a beggar on the streets. Done were the days when he would dig around trash heaps for moldy bread crumbs. He deserved it, too.
During his travels as a slave-turned-mercenary, wasn't he the one who went around and saved a bunch of people during the empire's expansion? Sure, he was a bit of a money-grubber throughout it all, but food for himself and all the people he saved wasn't going to buy itself, now was it? What was he supposed to feed all those people—hopes and dreams? Promises of a brighter future? No way.
Saving people was expensive. You had to be rich to afford it long-term. That's why the storybooks didn't go as far as to tell what came after the dashing warrior saved the day.
It likely wasn't pretty.
At the very least, Jerme couldn't exactly walk the straight and narrow path while maintaining such a heroic lifestyle. He assumed few people could. Maybe those born into money, but a street rat like him? Yeah, you'd much sooner see a mermaid in the desert.
Anyway, the only reason he, a Transcendent, remained a slave was because of a promise he made to a particularly kind owner of his. Jerme did a lot of bad things before he got caught and enslaved for the umpteenth time, but he wasn’t one to forget debts of gratitude. He would protect his master’s descendants—in exchange for the lavish lifestyle those descendants provided, of course—until the ten-thousand-year contract was done.
Never had he thought of breaking that vow.
Until today.
Jerme barely dodged out of a giant talon’s path, trying to aim a punch at the Sage King’s exposed giant owl belly in response. The force behind his fist was tremendous, enough to permanently delete part of the map. But it barely fazed the Sage King and its massive body.
‘I was contracted to fight the Sage King… Are they sure this is the Sage King, though? I thought it’d be an old man! What the fuck is this...!?’
It seemed the Star of Fortune's information network needed to get their shit together.
Luckily, the owl’s attacks didn’t really faze him all that much. Yes, just one of them could end his story then and there, but Jerme was fast enough to dodge its talons. And those silver gusts of wind felt like a nice breeze to him, as long as he ignored the lacerations.
Unfortunately, he didn't have an opening to attack because he was too busy trying not to get killed. And in the few times he managed to land a blow, it barely made the massive silver owl feel anything.
In other words, it was a deadlock.
‘Should I abandon ship?’
What had initially been a three-versus-one was now a two-versus-three, with his side holding the disadvantage. And his battle brother was the fucking War God—who he knew was a big stinking piece of shit. Jerme had been raised in the empire, and he hated it there. Naturally, he didn’t like the people who ran the place either.
Yes, it made him stronger. But he would have also been perfectly fine with keeping both parents, not having to live off the streets for years before being enslaved, then escaping slavery, becoming a mercenary—only to be caught and thrown into slavery again. Escaping was really troublesome even though he'd gotten good at it at some point.
A normal life with a normal death. That sounded pretty good to him, but sadly, that wasn't the life he got to lead and he was a little sick of it.
When being strong is the only path to survival, it gets pretty tiring.
‘Where’s that scary old man from Aizen when you need him…?’
Then, on a whim, Jerme chanced a glance at what was happening below and noticed a newcomer. It was an old man with something Jerme could only describe as a white bathrobe, except it looked way better than any of the bathrobes he got to wear.
Then he grew fixated on the black sword in the old man’s hand.
‘Oh, wow. That looks nice. What’s that? Wonder if I could get one too.’
Distracted, Jerme barely dodged out of a giant talon’s way. He was a few inches away from having his head torn off, though he’d probably survive that much because his body wasn’t really a body anymore.
Jerme wanted to listen in, but he had withdrawn his perception as much as he could to focus on occupying the Sage King. There was no way he could kill such a massive owl alone, so earlier, he’d resolved himself to stall for time until more allies arrived.
Sadly, he was a bad match against the Sage King and the stinking War God was a bad match against, well, literally two opponents—a pointy-eared kid with an attitude and a ginormous crimson worm with pointy teeth. Jerme would have loved to switch opponents, but his contract stated he would only fight the Sage King, so his own honor tied his hands a little.
Eventually, Leonel broke off, leaving the old man alone before heading toward Jerme.
“We take care of this one fast, mudskin.” Leonel jerked a chin toward the Sage King, who had flown away to presumably do something magical. “If Antonnel dies, the elf will probably cut losses and leave.”
"Don't call me mudskin, you fucking..." Jerme almost pulled out his extensive knowledge of expletives, but he managed to calm down. It wasn't really the time for that, so with a sigh, he asked the racist motherfucker a question. “Got any ideas?”
Leonel smirked. “A few. I’m sure you’ve heard that we’ve fought before.”
“Sure…” Jerme sighed, trying to recover his energy.
'Well, this should get easier now, eh?'
This was the first time he was fighting a Transcendent and it was surprisingly more normal than he thought. Sure, it was hard and he was making little progress. But he was sure he'd have more trouble fighting someone twice or thrice his age. Apparently, not. He smiled, thinking that he was more amazing than he gave himself credit for.
That is, until the Sage King summoned four spirit beasts around him.